


what will survive of us is love

by cloudsnbones



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsnbones/pseuds/cloudsnbones
Summary: based off of the themes explored (primarily the last line) of Philip Larkin's poem, 'An Arundel Tomb'. this fic mainly explores the theme of perceptions vs reality.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/River Song, The Doctor/River Song
Kudos: 2





	what will survive of us is love

**Author's Note:**

> epigraph: "Above their scrap of history,  
> Only an attitude remains:
> 
> Time has transfigured them into  
> Untruth. The stone fidelity  
> They hardly meant has come to be  
> Their final blazon, and to prove  
> Our almost-instinct almost true:  
> What will survive of us is love."  
> \- Philip Larkin, An Arundel Tomb (The Whitsun Weddings)

Syr. X875-I Great & True Romances, (5765) et al.

_“The Doctor and River Song, star-crossed lovers, dancing through galaxies, circling each other for eternity across the Universe, one could not be without the other lest their heart(s) explode. It was inevitable that she would give her life for him, for love and he would do the same for her a million times over. No matter whatever’s happening has happened or will happen, we keep our hope alive in their love.”_

“Au revoir!” he said 7 years, 6 months, 3 days ago. ‘Until we meet again”. When will that be exactly?

I loathe to be in my mother’s image waiting for my magical doctor to take me away and bury me amongst the stars. A real-life Ophelia (if you can call this life).

So…

I look for him. I have searched so far and so wide you’d think he’s been escaping me…and I think I know why.

I did find him, “she’s good”, he used to say. I found him, waiting on a cloud, the dark night sky sprawled over him but his vacant stare told me that the hour was not mine. I should have gone, but just being in his presence (AGHHHHH!) brings me everlasting peace. I could finally sleep.

I woke with a third of my body hanging off the cloud, the blood had rushed to my hand creating an unnecessary weight, I need not have bothered moving it for an (almost) unexpected larger mass was to override what was left of my pathetic body. A kiss. From my husband, not to me but to a pretty little lady in matching hues. An end; to a relationship, I’d always let define me - that was obvious now -; to any future happiness. My vision shook and I spent the rest of the day in a fugue, stumbling I’m sure, through time and space waiting for the pain to end (pathetic). I guess I’ll never stop wishing to be loved.

2 days later, the rest’s cruelty ceased, I was welcomed back by a pool of some godforsaken liquid that had bonded with all the flesh it found.

No matter what happens we carry on.


End file.
